


the end and the beginning

by ImagineYourself



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Awkward Tension, Bottom Peter Parker, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, First Time, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mood Swings, Rimming, Serious Injuries, Steve is a Nice Guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7827388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineYourself/pseuds/ImagineYourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trouble began, at first, with one of his webshooters malfunctioning, leaving him to swing directly into a wall and fall into a dumpster filled with cardboard boxes that at least marginally broke his fall. Then, he fell out of the dumpster when trying to free himself, catching a foot on the edge and ending up face first in dirty slush from the recent snows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. genesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assume this takes place Post-AOU, Post-Deadpool, but Pre-Civil War in the MCU. Any timeline revolving around Peter is really iffy so I guess just ignore that whole shitstorm and pretend there was a divergence somewhere that led to this. That's how I'm living my life because no one knows what's up (not even 4 Non Blondes, ha! I'm sorry).

To say that Peter was upset would be a severe understatement. It was just not his day and the cruel hand of fate was adamant on pushing his face into the dirt, repeatedly and literally.

The day began like many others, late. Peter rolled out of bed and heavily onto the cold floor as his phone buzzed angrily on the bedside table. Groggy, he didn't catch it in time to answer and listened to a message from May which told him to be at her house seven sharp for dinner.

After arriving far later he should have at the Stark Industries lab, Peter managed, for the first time, to be sent home early just hours later by Tony himself after accidentally ruining two of their four DNA samples from a mutant which they were attempting to run tests on.

Truly, Peter had no idea why he'd messed up. It was routine procedures he'd done a hundred times, but his head hadn't been all there. Tony, cheekily, had asked if he'd woken on the wrong side of the bed. Peter only replied by stalking out of the lab with a cold, “See you tomorrow, Stark.”

Returning, angrily, to his empty apartment, Peter had decided to work off his excess energy by swinging around the city. Not even the air rushing past his ears and filling his lungs made him feel better so, naturally, he looked for trouble.

Trouble began, at first, with one of his webshooters malfunctioning, leaving him to swing directly into a wall and fall into a dumpster filled with cardboard boxes that at least marginally broke his fall. Then, he fell out of the dumpster when trying to free himself, catching a foot on the edge and ending up face first in dirty slush from the recent snows.

That incident normally would have made Peter stop and check himself over to see what reason was behind his unusually slow moving mind that day. Instead, he just grumbled to himself and fiddled with the webshooter until it started spitting strings again. Not trusting it to swing with, he scaled the building behind him and crouched on the edge of the rooftop moodily, listening for signs of struggle in the area.

The sun was already starting to set and Peter knew he had short time before he'd need to be at his Aunt's house, but he hadn't been able to work off his grouchiness yet and May didn't deserve him being snippy with her at dinner.

Luckily, a gunshot rang out a couple of blocks over, followed by indistinct shouts and chattering. It sounded like a whole load of people so Peter went towards the sounds, a little surprised to find the group up atop an apartment building, two pacing around each other with fists raised and the backers of each individual shouting from the sides, clearly separated.

No bodies were on the ground, so Peter assumed the gunshot had been in warning, but he could see several of the onlookers with weapons in their hands or tucked into the waistbands of their pants.

Quietly, he made his way to crouch on the next rooftop overlooking the bunch. “Beautiful evening for a street fight!” Peter called to them, successfully getting everyone's attention. “Not in the street, though, I see. Rooftops are funny places to meet.”

“It's the fuckin' Spider!” he heard someone say.

“Goddamnit,” another muttered.

There were grumblings all around until one of the two who had been in the ring, so to speak, piped up, “We're just havin' a friendly brawl here, kid, no need to get your panties in a twist.”

Peter cocked his head and rested his hands between his feet, looking poised but relaxed. “Doesn't look too friendly to me, fellas. That one's got a gun!” He pointed at one of the guys who did in fact have a gun, now in his hands and pointing right at Peter. Three more men from various sides pulled guns, too, and several of the others wielded bats, crowbars, and knives. The two in the middle were still unarmed.

“We don't want any trouble with you,” the one who had spoken before said.

“This don't concern you!” the other shouted, pointing a finger.

“I think it does,” Peter told them, a smile hidden behind his mask. “I really think it does.”

Before anyone said another word, Peter was leaping from his position and twisting through the air to land on the other rooftop, watching the group of men. There were maybe a dozen in total, and Peter had handled that many before. He shot two webs to either side of himself and disarmed two of the men with guns.

“Fuck this!”

“Brat!”

“Get him!”

Peter dodged a bullet that whizzed past his head and swept the feet out from under one bastard, turning to throw a web at another and knock him to the ground where he stuck fast. His spider sense was suddenly going haywire, everyone closing in around him. Peter ducked and dodged, managing to get two guys to punch each other unconscious and sparing a second to laugh at them.

A crowbar was aimed at his head and Peter grappled with the man holding it, tossing it to the side before swinging himself up and wrapping his thighs around the guy's neck. He twisted and shoved his ride into another goon, webbing them to the ground.

He crossed his arms and got a guy from either side of him with a web each, pulling them towards each other to crash together. Once they were down, he took stock of the situation and realized there were still about six up, two of them brandishing pistols. They opened fire and Peter went to shoot a web as he feinted to one side only to find his webshooter had malfunctioned again. Biting back a groan, Peter had to improvise with his other hand and the extra few seconds it took cost him a bullet in his bicep.

The situation was quickly deteriorating, now that each of his arms had a disability. Peter got close enough to punch one unarmed guy and send him sprawling. He kicked another in the knee, sure that he'd broken the guy's leg by the way he cried out in pain. The one with the gun was reloading and Peter punched out two more, leaving just the gun guy and one with a baseball bat.

With a calculated and painful throw of his arm, Peter managed to knock the bat out of the way with a web before he tackled the man and took him into the ground. Getting to his feet again, panting heavily, Peter turned to the last man standing who had his gun raised again.

Two shots were fired as Peter forced himself to cast one last web, catching the man's leg and pulling him to the ground before stepping over to punch him unconscious.

Everything was still but the breaths leaving and entering Peter's lungs quickly. His side ached and he looked down to see a bullet hole just above his hip. He fell to one knee, the hand of his uninjured arm pressing against the wound.

He staggered upright and heard sirens heading his way. Carefully, he went to the edge of the building. He waved at the two cops who were already out of their cars to let them know they needed the roof. Then, with slow feet, Peter made his way to the back of the building and climbed painfully to the alley below.

His entire arm ached so badly that it was all but useless and he sagged against a wall for a moment, clutching the wound in his side. Peter knew he had to get home, had to get somewhere he could be fixed up. He briefly entertained the idea of going to Stark Tower although while Tony himself knew Peter's identity, none of the other Avengers did, and he didn't exactly want them all let in on the secret that the new lab tech was Spider-Man.

So he struggled to find which direction he needed to go to get back to his apartment and headed that way through alleys and under broken streetlamps. He hoped to stay in the shadows as much as possible, knowing that if he ran into any more trouble, he wouldn't be able to handle it.

He cursed himself and his stupid need to go out in the first place.

There was a dark corner by a liquor store with a mailbox under a flickering lamp. It was by no means deserted, but Peter leaned against the light post in an effort to steel himself for crossing the street. He heard someone whistling nearby, a vaguely familiar tune.

Then a voice called out, “Hey, Spidey! That you?”

Peter could have groaned except he could barely keep his breath steady enough to make a sound.

Footsteps came towards him, then a blurry red mask with black eye spots swam in Peter's vision and made him feel dizzy.

“Whoa, hey, you do _not_ look so good, kid.”

“Wade?” Peter asked, choking on the name.

“Yeah, yeah, it's me! Friendly neighborhood Deadpool! Where you headed, Spidey?”

Peter mumbled, “Home,” before one of his legs gave out and he started crumpling to the ground.

“Oh shit,” Wade murmured, catching him under the arms. “Is that a bullet hole? Shit, of course it's a bullet hole. Jeez, what kind of mess did you get into this time, baby boy?”

Peter let the nickname slide as he attempted to not dry heave bile all over the sidewalk at the way the world was suddenly spinning. “Put me down,” he whined. Peter closed his eyes for just a moment before realizing that was worse and looking up at Wade.

“No, no, no, I think you need a little help. Look at him, he's bleeding out! I know, poor kid. Come on, Spidey, let's get you somewhere safe.”

Before Peter had the chance to complain, he was being lifted under his knees and cradled to Deadpool's chest. He couldn't even make a sound but gasped quietly as the movement made his side twinge with pain.

“Sorry baby boy,” Peter heard Wade whisper distantly as they started moving.

Peter's head jostled against the merc's shoulder and he wanted to tell him that he could make it on his own but his eyes slid shut and he couldn't open them again. He passed out before they even got a block down the street.

 

. . .

 

The soft sounds of someone singing along to an old pop song was what got Peter to wake up and crack his crusty eyes open. He found he wasn't wearing his mask—or the top half of his suit—when he lifted an arm to wipe drool from the corner of his mouth. Groaning, Peter sat up, finding himself on a ratty old couch in an apartment with mismatched furniture and an old woman with sunglasses sitting across from him in a rocking chair.

Before Peter could say a word, she called out, “Hey asshole, your boyfriend is up.”

 _Boyfriend?_ Peter thought uncertainly, rolling his shoulders. He remembered vividly that he had been injured, explaining why his body was so damn sore, and prodded at his arm. He winced, finding the area sore though the wound had closed and looked like it was healing well.

“Petey!” he heard a voice call.

Peter turned, his side twinging, and saw Wade bounding toward him wearing his full suit sans his weapons and boots. His feet were instead clad in blue crocs and Peter grimaced at them before looking up into the merc's soulless white eyeholes.

“Boyfriend?” he croaked, throat dry.

Wade laughed, heartily and loudly, holding his stomach. Abruptly, he turned to the old woman and hissed, “Why did you have to say that?”

The woman smiled and replied mildly, “Heard you jerking off after you brought him in. Twice.”

“Ah, but you didn't hear the third time!” Wade said triumphantly. He gasped and covered his mouth, turning back to Peter. “Whaaaaat?” he whispered. “Who said that?”

Peter was a little too tired to give more than a half-smile for the attempt at humor and rolled his shoulder again. “Gee, Wade, didn't think you had it _that_ bad for me.” His weak words made Wade step over to him, crocs squeaking.

“Petey, baby, you were bleeding all over the place. How're the holes? The bullet holes, I mean. Just the bullet holes. Maybe some others, you know, if they hurt.” Wade chuckled uncomfortably.

“Better. Thanks,” Peter told him, not insincerely. “You live here?” He glanced around the room again and finally noticed the smell of something cooking.

“Oh, right! Welcome to mi casa, Spidey. This is Al,” Wade said, pointing to the third occupant of the room. He cupped his hands around his mouth and stage whispered, “She's blind as a bat. Batty, too.”

“I heard that,” the woman—Al—muttered darkly. Peter liked her already. He also understood why Wade lived with her and why he had his mask off.

Speaking of. “Where's the rest of my suit?” Peter asked. He stood up and stretched, biting back a groan at the pain in his muscles. “I should probably get home and—oh god! Aunt May!”

“Who?” Wade cocked his head.

“My aunt, I—I was supposed to meet her for dinner. Oh fuck, what time is it? How long have I been here?” Peter's rapid fire questions made Wade shake his head quickly.

“Hey, hey, calm down, kid. It's only been a few hours. It's like eleven o'clock.”

“Past your bedtime?” Al asked, smirking when Peter glanced at her.

He scoffed. “I'm twenty, not a child.”

“Sure sound like a kid.”

“Al!” Wade admonished. “Don't be mean to Spidey! He's a grownup now.”

It might have been sweet had Wade not threaded his fingers under his chin and sighed dreamily after saying it. He gazed at Peter and the hero could swear he saw hearts in his eyes through the mask.

“Listen, Wade,” Peter started.

“Ah, ah, ah. Before you go, I made breakfast. Food is good for recovery!” Wade recited, waggling a finger.

Peter sighed. “Just give me back my suit so I can get home.”

“No can do, baby boy. You've gotta eat first before you're getting anything back!”

Before Peter could argue, the old woman said, “It's in his room. I think he was touching himself with it.”

Wade gasped loudly. “I would _never—_ ” He took a step forward and the squeak of his foot was loud. “I only looked at it. Maybe smelled it a little. But I _never—_!”

Al was grinning and even Peter couldn't help but laugh at the sheer indignation in Wade's shaking voice. He honestly couldn't be mad at this disgustingly lewd yet oddly charming man.

“Alright,” Peter said, grabbing the merc's attention back. “I'll eat before I go.”

Wade literally jumped for joy, hands clapping together. “Sit back down, I'll bring you a plate.”

“You better have made some for me,”Al called after him.

“Of course I didn't!” Wade sang back. When he returned just seconds later, though, he plopped a plate in her hands as well at Pete's and nobody missed the satisfied smile on her lips.

Peter had to admit, it was good. A stack of pancakes, sausage, and eggs, and it hit the spot after an evening of crime fighting and missing out on dinner. He knew he'd have to make it up to May, but he hoped she'd understand and not be too upset with him. Still, he dreaded the call he'd have to make after he got home.

“So, Petey,” Wade began, just as Peter shoved an entire pancake into his mouth. Wade, he noted, was not eating as he reclined on the couch beside him. “How come you were so off your game tonight?”

Peter choked. He coughed, swallowed, then coughed again for good measure, getting the sticky pancake down his throat. “Uh. Well.”

Wade seemed to take pity on him. “I just mean, I don't normally see you all bruised and battered and certainly not shot up and stuff.”

After clearing his throat nervously, Peter just said, “I got in over my head.”

“No way. How many?” Wade leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His body was twisted halfway towards Peter.

“Thirteen, I think? I'm not entirely sure. There were two gangs brawling—”

“So you stepped in between? Aw, Spidey, you're too hero for your own hero self.”

“That . . . didn't really make sense.”

“It did to me.”

Peter hid a smile. “Sure. Anyway, a few of them had guns and one of my webshooters wasn't working so I got hit in the arm and it was downhill from there.”

“Hey, at least you made it out alive!”

Glancing at the mask, Peter said quietly, “I guess I have you to thank for that.”

All was silent for a few moments until Wade looked, comically slowly, over at Al. “Did you hear that?” he breathed. “I saved Spidey's life!”

“We all heard. You're not special.”

“I saved Petey's life!” Wade argued, elated.

Peter began to regret saying anything in the first place.

“Aha! Good Deadpool!”

“Sure, yeah,” Peter said noncommittally. “Listen, I'm gonna go. Thanks for the save and for, uh, breakfast.”

“Aww! Leaving so soon?” Wade was suddenly listless and flopped back into the couch cushions.

Peter reached over and patted his knee affectionately. “Unfortunately, I have a webshooter to fix and an apology to prepare for Stark.”

“Stark?” Just like that, Wade's interest was peaked again.

“He sent me home early from the lab today because I screwed up a couple of trials,” Peter told him, a little embarrassed.

“You? Pete, you never screw up anything.”

Peter huffed. “That is so not true and you know it. I screw up anything good in my life nine times out of ten.”

Wade appeared to want to say more but just before a single syllable could pass his lips, Al snored loudly from her place in her chair.

Grinning, Peter shook his head and stood, handing his empty plate to Wade. “Thanks again.” He went over to what he assumed was Wade's room, saw the top of his suit and his mask sitting on a desk atop three different shotguns, and quickly put them on.

Back in the main room, Wade was still sitting, face turned towards the floor and Peter stepped in front of him. He laid a hand on the merc's shoulder, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and turned away.

Wade didn't make a sound as he slipped outside.


	2. place your hand on mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Footsteps and a heartbeat alerted Peter to a presence behind him before a voice asked, “Cold?”
> 
> Peter didn't even turn to look at Rogers. “I've had worse.”

Thunder clapped overhead. Peter crouched, shivering even with a thick coat around his shoulders. His suit didn't do much to protect him from the onset of winter but he would rather be cold than risk being a hero in civvies.

Heroes had to make sacrifices, right?

Peter shook his head to himself and returned his attention to the busy streets far below Tony's landing pad near the top of the Avenger's tower.

Footsteps and a heartbeat alerted Peter to a presence behind him before a voice asked, “Cold?”

Peter didn't even turn to look at Rogers. “I've had worse.”

There was a chuckle. Then, “Yeah, we've all had worse. You know, Tony would probably make you a new suit if you asked.”

“Probably.” Peter didn't have to heart to laugh because Stark had actually offered before but Peter always declined. He liked the suits he made himself.

Steve just hummed and stood silently beside him for a while, loudly breathing in the cold air. It was somewhat relaxing, actually, hearing another human breathing calmly nearby. Peter had been agitated for the last two weeks following the Day of Mishaps™. He hadn't been able to really relax even after apologizing profusely to May. He also hadn't seen hide or tail of Deadpool since leaving his little duplex.

“Any particular reason you're up here?” Cap finally asked.

At that, Peter did look up. Steve's eyes were trained on the storm clouds. It hadn't started snowing or sleeting yet, but the thunder was loud and the sky was so dark it felt only minutes away. “It suits my mood.”

“As a metaphor or . . ?”

“Maybe?” Peter wrapped his arms around his legs, using his coat as a blanket for his whole, scrunched up body.

Steve didn't sigh. Didn't comment on the early 2000's feeling of Peter's claim. He didn't even seem fazed as he asked softly, “Want to tell me what's been going on?”

Peter was silent.

The wind blew past his ears, carrying the sounds of the city, but hardly any sounds of distress. He should have been thankful, but he was irritated. A fine tremor had started in his shoulders.

“I nearly was killed by a dozen mouth breathers and got my ass saved by Deadpool of all people,” Peter finally spat. He stood abruptly and paced a few steps, wanting to lash out.

“Are you upset that you almost died or that a bad guy helped you?” Rogers asked calmly.

Peter glanced over to see the guy with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking for all the world like he didn't have anywhere to be and was simply enjoying the weather. It wasn't very enjoyable weather.

“He's not a 'bad guy',” Peter muttered. “I don't know. Both, I guess?” He threw his hands up in the air and then moodily brought them down, hands balled into fists. “First of all, I shouldn't have had any problems with those guys anyway, but my stupid webshooter fucked up—”

“Language?”

“—and one misstep got my arm shot through and then Wade fucking Wilson had to save the day and take me home and I met his weird old lady roommate and he made me breakfast at like midnight and who—who _does_ that? Now I feel like I owe some sort of favor to him but I guess I wasn't very nice to him even though I said thanks—twice! And I haven't seen him since so I don't know what the hell to say when I _do_ see him—”

“Spider.”

“What if I fucked up a relationship that didn't even exist before it had a chance to start?” Peter finished, a little winded and head spinning. He tilted his face up and a fat raindrop splattered on his masked cheek.

Steve was quiet for a long moment before asking, “Do you want there to be a relationship?”

Peter faced him, startled. “What?”

“You said 'relationship'.” The Cap's eyes were unreadable but soft when he looked at Peter. “Spider-Man, you're worked up about this, that's obvious enough. But have you really stopped to think why? It seems to me that there's more to this story than you're telling.”

“Why I'm upset with him?” Peter asked, feeling small.

“Are you upset with him, or upset with yourself?”

His eyes falling to the floor, Peter felt another raindrop on his head. Then another. He crouched again, gaze wide but unseeing. Thunder clapped and a deluge began pouring from the heavens, icy sleet soaking into Peter's coat. When he looked up, Steve was gone, and Peter quickly moved back inside, shivering almost violently.

In the Avenger's common room, he dropped his coat atop a chair and flopped into one of the couches, pulling a blanket from across the back to cover himself. He sighed.

“Hey, Pete.”

“What the fuck, Clint?” Peter spluttered, sitting up as Barton entered the room, munching on what looked like a toaster strudel.

The archer looked at him funny. “What?”

“You're not supposed to know my name!”

“Oh. Right.” Clint looked at the floor then shoved the rest of his snack in his mouth. “I forgot,” he said ineloquently around the mouthful.

“How did you—?”

Peter glared as Clint swallowed then said with a shrug, “I hear things.”

“You're deaf.”

“I hear things.” The grin the Avenger gave was over the top shit eating.

“Ugh!” Peter tossed himself back against the couch even as Clint settled into a chair with his legs over one arm. “Who else knows?”

“Just me. And Nat.”

“And Natasha?” Peter was incredulous. He covered his face with his hands and groaned. “Can't a guy keep a secret around here?”

“No.” Natasha's voice came floating down over him as she entered the space and threw something towards Barton. Peter heard Clint catch it but didn't know what it was, and when he uncovered his eyes to look over, he'd already hidden it from view. “Stop leaving your stuff lying around, I thought you were flying back home today. And what's this secret business?”

“Later. And Parker didn't know that we knew his name,” Clint filled her in, making room for her to sit on one arm of his chair.

“Don't feel bad,” Natasha said, addressing Peter. “It's our job to know everything about everyone.”

That didn't really make Peter feel better.

“Who knows everything about everyone?” Bruce asked as he, too, entered the room.

Peter kind of wanted to curl up in a ball and fade out of existence at that point, sick of people walking in.

“We do,” Clint and Natasha answered in tandem. They didn't even look at each other. Peter was disgusted.

“Listen,” Peter started, sitting up again, “I just wanted to have some alone time. Can you guys, like, leave?”

“It's the common room. You could go somewhere else,” Clint offered.

Natasha looked at Peter scathingly. “You're not even an Avenger, you just hang around sometimes.”

“Hey, I take offense to that,” Peter told her.

“Okay, good talk,” Bruce muttered. “Back to the lab for me.”

With that, the doctor was gone, and Peter stood, stretching his arms above his head. “Yeah, fine, I'm out of here, too.”

“Hang on, Rogers wanted to see you,” Natasha called after him as Peter grabbed his still wet coat and headed to the elevator. “He's down in the gym.”

Peter waved a hand over his shoulder to show he'd heard her and asked FRIDAY to take him to the gym where he immediately saw Steve and Sam sparring. ”Hey, Cap,” Peter greeted, standing to the side of the ring. “Falcon.”

“Hey, Spidey, nice seeing you again,” Sam managed to say just before dodging Steve's fist. “What brings you around?”

“Nat said you wanted to see me, Steve?” Peter said in lieu of an answer.

“Yep.” Steve swung his fist again, threw a kick in for good measure, then backed off when Sam easily blocked both. They turned to him. “You wanna talk some more or you wanna dance?”

Peter smiled. “I could do with a good tango.” He dropped his coat, rolled his shoulders, and slid through the ropes and into the ring. Sam clapped his shoulder before ducking under and out. “Should we pull punches?”

“No, but keep it hand to hand.”

“In a real fight, I'd have my webs.”

Steve smiled ruefully. “Not always, as record would have it.”

Peter frowned, but he kept his words to himself. He and Steve squared off, fists raised. Peter took a deep breath and a step to the left.

Steve punched first. Hard. Peter's forearm felt numb for a moment as he blocked the swing and feinted to the side before aiming at Steve's abdomen. If he had pulled his punch, it probably wouldn't have even hurt the guy, but because he'd been told not to, his fist hit Steve's stomach with a thud and sent the super soldier into the edge of the ring. He had to steady himself on the ropes as Peter straightened, smirking under his mask.

“You're fast, I'll give you that,” Rogers said, pulling himself together.

“I try,” was all Peter could say because suddenly the entire bulk of the blond was rushing towards him. Peter ducked, his body moving before the action was processed, spider sense making his brain whir frantically. He swept Steve's feet out and rolled sideways when Steve tried to take advantage and wrap legs around Peter.

Grinning, Peter waited until Steve was standing again, fists raised. Then, with agile ease, he all but climbed the towering man from behind and surrounded his throat with his thighs. Steve caught Peter's arms above him and used his strength to tear Peter off and throw him to the floor where he landed on his back, pulling Steve into the somersault with him. They were both down but Peter still held his leggy grip.

Rogers suddenly twisted and grappled at Peter's legs, wrenching him away. As Peter rolled to a crouch to slip out of reach, Steve literally jumped on top of him, crushing his body into the floor. They were there for a few seconds until Peter awkwardly reached around and patted Steve's arm to let him up.

“That was a cheap trick,” Peter panted, resting onto his back when Steve finally got up. The blond smiled and held out a hand, which Peter gratefully took to get himself standing again.

“All's fair,” Steve told him, not bothering to finish the line.

“That was pretty impressive, though, kid,” Sam said. Peter glanced over to find him with his arms crossed looking coolly at them.

Peter stood straight, hands on his hips. “You wanna try your hand?” he asked mildly.

Sam shook his head, chuckling. “No way. I have a hard enough time with Cap. I don't think I could keep up with you.”

The praise tickled Peter's ego.

“Hey, you're not too bad, Sam,” Steve said, resting against the ropes and looking down at him.

“I'm only human.” Falcon grinned.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tony's voice called to them from the elevator. He stepped into the space looking ready to work out despite dark circles under his eyes. “How's my resident arachnid?”

“Just getting my ass beat by a guy five times my age but what else is new. How's the Iron Princess this fine afternoon?” Peter asked, humor clear in his tone.

Tony laughed and stood beside Sam. “Not too shabby, can't complain. Don't worry, America's poster boy beats us all up at least once a week, you've just been missing out.”

“Not true,” Steve said, like he was defending his honor as a Nice Guy. “Nat usually beats _me_ up when we spar.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam admitted quietly. They all had a gentle laugh about it and Peter secretly worried that she—or Clint—was watching them.

Peter slid from between the ropes and back to regular carpet. “Thanks for the lesson, Cap. I'll see you guys around,” he said, moving towards where Tony had come from.

“Leaving so soon?” Stark called after him.

“I've been here long enough. Besides, it's Friday night! I have better things to do.”

Sam's voice said, “Don't party too hard!” as the elevator doors opened and Peter stepped in.

He almost laughed except Steve yelled out, “Take my advice and talk to Wade. You'll feel better after you make up.”

“More like make _out_ ,” Tony joked.

The doors closed and Peter groaned. He knew Rogers was right, but he hoped Steve would refrain from saying anything else to Tony. Monday mornings were bad enough already.


	3. untie your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter had to stop himself from sighing. There were way too many guys like this in the world. Luckily most of them didn't make metal suits to get attention like this particular brand of douchebag. “Alright,” Peter finally said. “We'll do it your way.”

Wade was not in any of the places that Peter thought he might be in. Not on his usual rooftops or his favorite fast food places. Not hanging around Stark tower or making trouble for police. At one point Peter felt like he was being followed and he doubled back, hoping it was Wade. He found nothing but his own paranoia.

The night brought severe chill though the clouds were no longer pissing down on the city. Peter was about to just give up his search when he heard the telltale sounds of screaming citizens and swung a few blocks to a busy intersection. A large figure clad in a shoddy metal suit was tearing apart a car.

Peter took a moment to assess the situation and quickly webbed the few bystanders to safety before standing behind the metal guy. One of his hands had a buzzsaw attached and the other had long glinting claws, both of which were being purposed on the car while the villain laughed.

“Hey!” Peter finally called, standing with his arms crossed. He shivered and wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the screech of metal on metal. “I hope you have car insurance because you're gonna need to pay for those damages.”

Finally, the metal guy looked at him. His face was visible and if he hadn't been wearing what he was, Peter would have assumed he was just a regular, middle-aged accountant.

“Spider-Man,” the guy growled, voice nasally.

“That's me! What's your name, pal?”

The buzzsaw hand whirred loudly. “Ralph.”

Peter frowned deeply in confusion. “Ralph?”

“Yeah!” He turned his body towards Peter, metal feet clanking on the asphalt. Sirens started up distantly.

“Uh, okay, well, _Ralph_ ,” Peter started, raising his hands placatingly. “Why don't you take the suit off and we can talk like normal people about what made you do . . . _this_.”

There was a loud clank as Ralph took a step forward and pointed with his claw hand. “No way! No one thinks I can do anything. But I can! I'll fight you!”

Peter had to stop himself from sighing. There were way too many guys like this in the world. Luckily most of them didn't make metal suits to get attention like this particular brand of douchebag. “Alright,” Peter finally said. “We'll do it your way.”

He shot a web at the saw hand and effectively stopped the machinery from spinning it, making Ralph yell in frustration. Just as Peter began to think this would be an easy job, cops already appearing around the intersection, Ralph started running towards him. Fast.

Peter leaped right over the guy, landing on his metal protected back and grappling for purchase when his hands and feet didn't automatically stick to the surface.

“Whoa!” Peter cried, too busy trying to hang on to realize at first Ralph's claw hand was moving. It was nearly too late to move by the time his spider sense warned him and then Peter's shoulder was being torn apart with deep scratches that easily went through his muscle.

The hero managed not to scream as he pushed himself off and away. He landed on his feet before staggering slightly, blood dripping to the ground in thick splashes.

With his good arm, Peter webbed one of the street lights and pulled himself up to crouch atop the pole. He watched as Ralph tried to claw the webbing from his saw hand and Peter shot more web at him, hoping to stick the guy's hands together.

He missed completely.

Peter realized with a sick feeling that he was shuddering violently and his entire arm and side were covered in sticky, cooling blood. A gust of freezing wind blew teasingly over him. Shaking his head, Peter aimed a web carefully at Ralph and almost smiled until the villain glanced up at him then spun around in a quick circle, tugging Peter off the post as he'd still had the end of the web in his hand.

Hitting the ground hard, Peter saw stars and then Ralph get free of the web. “Shit,” Peter muttered, pushing himself up with his hands until his injured arm crumpled. He rolled out of the way as Ralph nearly stomped him.

He heard the few police around shouting something before bullets were suddenly being fired, ricocheting off of Ralph and into the ground. Peter rolled again as the surprise from the barrage sent Ralph back a step. Peter managed to get into a crouch and waved a hand at the cops.

“Stop firing!” he yelled, satisfied momentarily when his command was heeded.

But he only had a few seconds respite before Ralph was heading towards him again. Pulling himself together, Peter used both webshooters to attach himself to each of Ralph's arms and then leap over his head, pulling the arms backwards and sticking them to Ralph's back. With quick movements, Peter danced around the guy, webbing his entire body and sticking the ends to the asphalt so he couldn't move at all except to shout in anger.

When Peter was finished, he admired his work and called over to the police, “You can take him from here.”

Cheering and clapping roared from the sidewalks and Peter glanced around to see a lot more bystanders than were originally there.

Peter retreated fast, waving at the crowd before slinging himself away between nearby buildings and looking back to see the cops approaching Ralph carefully. Peter smiled to himself. And then his arm gave out.

Cold hit him when he realized again that he was injured severely. Fresh blood was pouring from his shoulder and he clamped his other hand to it instead of trying to catch himself. He groaned as he crashed to the ground, rolling along an alleyway before he was stopped by a dumpster to the head.

Dizzy, Peter didn't move for a minute, content to lay on the ground for a long time despite the smell seeping through his mask. His head and spine ached along with his shoulder and he would have curled in on himself if only he could actually tell his body to do anything.

Suddenly there were hands turning him onto his back and Peter realized his eyes were closed. He tried to open them but they were squeezed shut as he shivered against the cold ground.

“Pete?”

He would have struggled except he really truly couldn't and the voice saying his name was relaxingly familiar.

“Peter? Can you hear me?”

Peter's lips parted like he was going to answer but his chest was wracked with tremors that made it almost impossible. He was being lifted into the air and had a strong sense of déjà vu.

“W-were you fo-following me?” Peter whispered finally, teeth chattering.

A soft laugh met his ears and Peter noticed the body he was being held against was actually really warm. He was still cold, but slung his uninjured arm around a set of broad shoulders, face pressed against a warm but covered neck. The grip around him tightened a little.

Peter was tired, but his chills kept him from unconsciousness even though he was pretty much limp by the time they got inside. The smell was just familiar enough to keep him relaxed and though Peter could hear mumblings and whispers, he had no idea what anyone was saying. He was laid on a soft surface and he didn't even open his eyes as he felt his mask being lifted from his face.

“Go to sleep,” a voice said.

So Peter did.

 

. . .

 

Sunlight was bright against Peter's eyelids when he woke up and he turned to his stomach to bury his face in a funny smelling pillow. He wrinkled his nose and blinked his eyes open, immediately pushing himself up onto his hands. Peter glanced around with some confusion.

He was in a room that he recognized as Wade's from the few moments he'd spent in it two weeks ago. Guns littered a table by the door and strange, hole filled posters were hung on every wall. The door was shut and Peter was alone so he sat up and yawned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His shoulder ached and he noticed there was white gauze wrapped around where he'd been slashed.

Peter smiled.

He was wearing only underwear and felt his cheeks grow warm. Standing, Peter moved to the only dresser in the room, digging through to find a pair of sweatpants and a sweater that was way too big.

He left the room and didn't see either Wade or Al, though he could hear humming in the kitchen and went to stand in the doorway. There Wade stood in jeans and a hoodie with his mask still on, shaking his hips to a tune only he knew. A pink apron was protecting him from sizzling bacon and Peter breathed the smell in deeply.

“Wade,” he called, crossing his ankles and arms as he leaned against the door frame.

“Petey! You're finally awake! You were . . . really . . .” Wade turned and his words died, unfinished sentence hanging in the air. “You . . . uh . . .”

Peter frowned. “What?”

“You're . . . um . . .” Wade paused and cleared his throat noisily. “You're wearing my clothes.”

“Oh.” Peter blushed. “Sorry, I didn't see my suit and I—”

Wade waved his hands quickly. “No, no, no. It's fine. I just—ah—don't worry about it, Spidey,” he finished lamely. He turned back to the stove and Peter felt strange. He heard Wade faintly whisper, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” to himself.

“Uh, anyway, thanks for . . . you know,” Peter told him, looking anywhere but the merc.

“Course, Pete,” Wade said, sounding strained. “Anytime.”

“Where's Al?” Peter asked, moving into the kitchen to sit at one of two chairs on either side of a small table.

“Out, I think,” Wade replied. “I'm not really sure, she kinda does her own blind thing most days.” He resumed his humming, though he was no longer dancing, Peter noticed. “I hope you like breakfast, it's the only thing I'm really good at cooking.”

Peter chuckled. “Breakfast is fine, thanks.” It explained why Wade made him breakfast last time, too. “So,” he started quietly, “were you actually following me last night or was that an accidental save again?”

Wade choked. “Are you gonna be mad if I tell you I _was_ following you?”

“I . . .” Peter frowned again. He pulled the ends of his sweater's sleeves down to cover his hands. The neckline was too wide and it fell over Peter's shoulders when he lifted his feet up to wrap his arms around his legs. “I was looking for you,” he admitted.

“For me? Why?”

Peter watched as Wade gathered two plates from a cupboard, loading food onto them from the stove. “I wanted to talk to you.” He sighed. “Steve was bugging me about it. I guess he noticed I've been off since, well, the last time I was here.”

Wade didn't move for a few seconds but he didn't say anything, still turned away from Peter.

“I just,” Peter started, looking at the floor. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“Sorry?” Wade was stock still.

Peter stood, taking a step towards him uncertainly. “Yeah, I acted like a dick the other day and I shouldn't have just walked out like that. It was rude, and I don't want you to be mad at me anymore, so—”

He stopped as Wade spun around, expressive mask giving him comically wide eyes and a shocked expression. “Petey—Pete, I'm not mad at you!” His breath caught on a laugh and Peter's brow furrowed. “I thought you were mad at _me_ 'cause I helped you or something!”

“Oh.” Peter looked away, biting his lip pensively. He rubbed his arms through the sweater and when he lifted his head again, Wade was a step or two closer. “Listen, Wade, there's something I should tell you.”

“Yeah?” Wade breathed. He shuffled ever closer and Peter found his gaze locked to the merc's face.

“I, uh . . .” Peter trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. His conversation with Rogers played over in his head and then one of Wade's bare hands was on the skin of his shoulder where the sweater had fallen down to expose it. Peter swallowed. “I don't want to fuck this up,” he whispered.

“Me neither.”

“I think I really like you.”

Wade choked like he was trying to laugh and Peter could relate. Then Wade's masked face was so close that Peter felt his heart stutter. “I'm already hard.”

Everything was silent for a few seconds until Peter spluttered on laughter and Wade looked shocked.

“Shit, that's not what I wanted to say,” Wade told him quickly.

Peter just grinned and reached out his hands to rest them on Wade's neck, their bodies so close to touching. He got his fingers under the edge of the mask and started pulling it up when Wade's hands caught his wrists and he frowned.

“Peter,” Wade whispered warningly. “You don't wanna—”

“Wade, I swear to God, if you don't let me look at you right now, I'm gonna give you the longest case of blue balls you've never had.”

The merc appeared mollified at that and dropped his hands to his sides, allowing Peter to pull the fabric up and off, revealing his frowning lips first and his downcast eyes before the rest of his head was bared.

Peter's fingers touched Wade's cheeks, under his eyes, then down his neck. He took Wade's hands and placed them on his own waist underneath the loose sweater. Then, with Wade's wide eyes staring at him, he wrapped his arms around Wade's head and pulled him down into a hard kiss.

The merc was still for all of three seconds before his fingers dug into Peter's flesh and he pulled their hips flush. He kissed like a starving man and turned to shove Peter against the edge of the counter. Peter gasped against his mouth, letting go with one arm to help himself up onto the counter. Wade filled the space between his thighs perfectly and dipped his head to mouth at Peter's neck.

“Wade,” Peter grumbled, “just kiss me.”

“I am,” Wade said into his skin and Peter could feel his smile. His tongue was wet against Peter's jaw and the hero shuddered, fingers clawing at the back of Wade's neck.

Peter's hips were pulled tight against Wade's and he felt the hard, warm line of his cock against his own. “You weren't lying,” he breathed.

Wade chuckled. “Baby I'm always hard when you're around.”

“That's almost sweet but a little creepy,” Peter told him jokingly.

“Admit it,” Wade whispered into Peter's ear, “you think it's kinda hot.” His hands slid to Peter's thighs and squeezed them gently.

“Yeah, sure, a little.” Peter bit back a moan. “Did you really jerk off last time you brought me here?”

Wade leaned back, brown eyes looking into Peter's with absolutely no shame. “I also jerked off last night after I had to take your suit off for you.”

Peter's cheeks were red with blood and he couldn't help but crush their lips together again, whining in the back of his throat. “Yeah, okay, that's hot,” he mumbled between kisses. “Not fair, though.”

“What isn't?”

“You've seen me almost naked but I just now get to see your face.” Peter said the words into Wade's scarred cheek and when he looked again into Wade's eyes he saw unadulterated lust.

“Fuck, Petey,” Wade whined, pouting. “Can I—I wanted to touch you so bad but I didn't want you to be mad at me and I—God, Pete, I just wanna touch you.”

Peter's breath caught at the desperation in Wade's voice. “Yeah, fuck, yes. Want you to touch me,” he whispered, fingers like vices in Wade's shoulders.

“Look so good,” Wade told him, mouthing at his jaw again. “Baby boy wearing my clothes. That sweater, your _skin_ ,” he babbled. His hands were still under the fabric and he gathered the hem into his fists, pulling it up and over Peter's head, making the younger man lift his arms to get it off.

Then Peter's chest was bare and Wade was attacking him with reverent palms along his spine, his shoulder blades, around to his pecs. Thumbs brushed against Peter's nipples and he tilted his head back as Wade ducked to bite into his collarbone. He moaned at Wade's warm mouth, hands trying to get over Wade's chest and down to the edge of his hoodie, intent on taking it off.

Wade let him, moving back enough to help get the heavy fabric off his body before leaning in to kiss Peter again and press their skin together. “Wanna taste you,” Wade whispered, one of his hands caressing Peter's cheek. “Can I eat you out?”

Peter froze, an electric current running down his spine and straight to his dick. He stared at Wade, open mouthed.

“I—Is that too much?” Wade suddenly asked, looking downtrodden. “We don't have to, I just thought—”

“ _Please_ ,” Peter whispered. The shocked look Wade was wearing turned quickly into one of pure adoration.

“Wanna get my tongue inside you so bad, baby boy. Wanna make you come from just my mouth,” Wade told him, pulling Peter off the counter and back to his feet. “You want that, baby?”

Peter shivered, not at all from any cold. “Fuck yeah.”

Wade kissed him with bruising tenderness and led him back towards the table where he pushed Peter's chest against it and told him, “Don't move.”

With a whine, Peter wanted to disobey, but he pillowed his head on his forearms and didn't wriggle as Wade tugged his pants and underwear down to his ankles. A kiss was laid on the base of Peter's spine. His ass was cupped in large hands before it was kneaded and he heard Wade's soft noise of appreciation as the merc kneeled.

“Been wanting to get my hands on this ass for months, baby,” he whispered. His hands pulled Peter's cheeks apart and the hero thought he might die of embarrassment before Wade even started.

Peter whimpered against the table when he felt a slick tongue across his hole. His toes curled against the tiled floor, hands balled into fists, but he tried to relax the tense muscles of his back.

Wade's hands slid down his thighs and he kissed his way almost to the back of Peter's knees before making his way back up and biting hard at the skin of one cheek. Peter yelped but Wade just laughed. Then his tongue was back against Peter's hole and he was kitten licking at the entrance, humming softly.

“Taste so good, Petey,” he whispered between licks, making Peter shudder and shake, thighs straining. “I could eat you for every meal.”

It should have sounded funny and Peter should have laughed, but the low tone with which Wade said those words made Peter bite his lip to stifle another whimper and his hips bucked ever so slightly.

“Fuck,” Peter panted, squirming as Wade gripped his hipbones tightly.

“I plan on it,” Wade told him and anything Peter might have replied was replaced with a loud moan as Wade dipped his tongue right inside Peter's asshole and wiggled it around.

Peter would have struggled against the sensation had Wade not had such a strong grip around him. As it was, he could only suffer in pleasure as Wade suckled at the puckered skin before thrusting his tongue inside again and again. Wade was humming and moaning and the slick sound of his wet mouth was a filthy mantra in Peter's ears.

Breathing hard, Peter whined, the sound high-pitched and needy. “Wade,” he gasped, leg muscles twitching.

“Sound so good like this, baby boy. _Taste_ so good.” Wade whispered the words into the crack of his ass before shoving his tongue as far as it would go inside of him. One hand left its bruising grip so a finger could slide in using Wade's saliva. He continued to run his tongue around the area while pressing against Peter's inner walls until he found the little bundle of nerves that made Peter's breath catch and his body lock up.

“That's it, Petey,” Wade cooed, pressing insistently against his prostate. “Feels good, right? You can come, just like this, my finger inside you and your ass wet from my tongue. Fuck, baby, want you to come for me, just like this.”

Peter's panting breath was a constant stream of high little moans as his body fought the intrusion and asked for more at the same time. His brain was slow, pleasure filled, and his hips rocked mindlessly into Wade's hand.

“Come on, Pete,” Wade whispered. “Look so good, all I wanna do is fuck this tight ass. Shove my cock so deep you'll feel me for days, baby boy. I wanna come inside you 'cause you're all mine.”

A single long moan left Peter's lips before he locked up completely and his head shut down, allowing the pressure of Wade's finger inside of him to send him over the edge, careening into orgasm. He was coming and Wade was still rubbing at his prostate, whispering dark, dirty things that Peter had neither the time or mental capacity to try and understand because he was so caught up in ecstasy he couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

He was so fucking out of his mind that everything stopped.

When Peter came to, he was slumped against the table, breathing harshly. He couldn't feel either of Wade's hands for a moment until he felt both of them wrapped around his hips and a cock between his cheeks. Wade was rubbing against him with stuttering movements and Peter hummed, exhausted. He reached a hand back to rest over one of Wade's.

“Come on, big boy,” he muttered, turning his head, eyes still shut. “Come all over me. Make me _yours_.”

Wade groaned and the irregularity of his movements got worse until Peter felt warm liquid on his back and he smiled. Wade's hands slammed to the table on either side of Peter's body, trying to hold himself up, and Peter could hear the man's harsh pants calm to more normal breathing.

They stayed like that for a long while, Peter content to recuperate from his mind blowing orgasm. Eventually he tried shifting around and that got Wade to move back only to steady Peter with hands at his waist when Peter nearly crumpled as he tried to stand, turning.

Peter kissed with languid lips, undemanding, and his hands rested on Wade's shoulders. His pants were still around his ankles and he laughed suddenly, pressing his face to Wade's neck.

“I can't believe—” he started to say.

Wade cut him off, gasping, “Breakfast!” He left Peter standing awkwardly with a confused expression as he rushed to the stove, soft cock still hanging out from his jeans.

“Wade!” Peter took the chance to pull his sweats up and picked his sweater and Wade's hoodie off the floor, placing them over a chair.

“It's all cold.” Wade gave him a petulant frown, holding the two plates he'd prepared before . . . that.

Peter was wearing an indulgent smile and he reached his hands out to Wade's hips. “We'll microwave it if you're that bothered,” he said softly. Pressing a last kiss to Wade's lips, he took one of the plates and went back to the table, sitting a little uncomfortably. He popped a piece of bacon in his mouth and Wade just stared at him.

“Screw breakfast, I wanna fuck you again. Damn, Spidey,” Wade muttered. He seemed to shake himself before taking the seat across from a grinning Peter.

“Later, Wade. Eat your breakfast.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

Peter ate another piece of bacon. “Please do.”

Wade laughed, hearty and carefree, and Peter thought about the smug look Steve would definitely give him when he learned Peter had actually taken his advice. Looking at Wade, mouth full of bacon, Peter decided it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out like the exact length I was planning. Wild. I hope this has been enjoyable and thank you everyone for your reviews!


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